


I See You

by NathalieWeasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NathalieWeasley/pseuds/NathalieWeasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He arches his back and closes his eyes, opening himself up to the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the fantastic mods and my amazing beta, **amorette**.

Harry doesn’t know what to call this emotion. Not that he is unaware of what an emotion is supposed to entail. He is aware of happiness, sadness, anxiety; but how do you describe an emotion when it doesn’t seem to belong to you? For so long he has been a figurehead for the new Ministry as the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour, or the most recent title-of-the-week, that he can no longer figure out what he is supposed to be feeling, or, more accurately, what he actually feels.

He does know he is tired. One solid, assured feeling in the midst of his discomfort and insecurity.

He silently enters his flat on the top floor of an old brick building in Walthamstow. The isolation suits him. Far removed from the throngs of adoring fans and sworn enemies that populate central London, the flat is small, cosy, and quiet. He rips off his robes. They are new, shiny and red, with deep black, matte buttons he was told match his hair exactly. “Nothing but the best for our model Auror.” Thrilling.

The robes hit the parquet floor, buttons clattering against the wood. If only there were not permanent anti-wrinkling charms built in. Trousers, shirt, vest hit the floor in a trail leading from the door as Harry heads deeper into the flat. His destination is not far; there is only the kitchen, sitting room, bedroom, and bath after all. 

He steps onto the balcony, clad only in his pants. The balcony is the reason he bought the flat. The rest of the flat is not particularly awful in any way, but this balcony is what he needs. In actuality quite small, the balcony is surrounded by a short metal rail on three sides and glass doors leading back into the bedroom. He installed the doors right after he moved in and never covered them with curtains. 

Harry slips his thumbs beneath the elastic of the waistband and tugs his pants down his legs, leaving them to puddle on the cement floor. The advantage to the balcony is that no building obstructs his view of the sky. There is a solitary flat located across the avenue that has a good view, but it has been empty for years according to the estate agent.

A cool breeze drifts by, a gentle caress across Harry’s body. He arches his back and closes his eyes, opening himself up to the night. He slides his hands down his chest, pausing to tweak his nipples. The quick twists send blood coursing through his body to his groin, which perks up in response to the start of Harry’s daily ritual. One hand still playing with a nipple, Harry slides the other down to firmly grasp his cock. As he strokes, the remains of the day wash away, and he is alone with himself and the city. He opens his eyes to take in the night sky, the pace of his hand increasing, his other hand moving lower and giving a light squeeze to his bollocks. The dual sensations speed his orgasm along. He comes in a rush, spurts of ejaculate sliding down the bannisters of the railing. He is quiet, as always. Harry rests his hands on the cool metal and stares off at the buildings. There are some sounds that drift up – voices shouting, cars honking– but, for the most part, he is alone. In all the ways that matter.

\--

On the worst days, when he has to make public appearances or get photographed for the cover of some magazine or other, he takes his time on the balcony. Today is one of those days. Auror North’s team – which he was not on, but this fact apparently does not matter – has solved a complex murder case that has been nagging the department for the past year. Harry made a statement – prewritten by the ever-cheerful public relations woman – and left late after the last post-murder case briefing. He spends more time running his hands over his chest, stroking his cock, even working two fingers into his entrance. It is chilly tonight, and the gooseflesh on his skin contrasts nicely with the warmth at his groin. He works one hand on his cock and the other inside himself. He is so close.

He opens his eyes, wanting to take in the city as he comes, and spots him. He is lounging on the balcony across the way – the one that was promised to never be filled – solid, unmoving, leaning against his corresponding railing with a glass of white wine in one hand. Harry meets his eyes, but can’t stop, too close, and he comes, all the while locking eyes with Draco Malfoy. 

There is no movement for a long moment. As sounds pervade his ears, Harry stays completely still, hand still on his shrinking cock and pushing along his rim. Then Malfoy raises the glass in salute, downs the wine, and retreats into his apartment. After a minute, Harry does the same.

\--

Harry avoids the balcony for a few days. He can feel the pressure growing. Kingsley has been giving him odd looks; he knows his pretence of control is slipping when he has no release to simply be himself.

On Friday, his interview with the _Prophet_ goes badly. He is called into Kingsley’s office and subject to a few choice words and a friendly order to pull himself together over the weekend. He nods and heads home. He needs to be out on the balcony, Malfoy be damned.

Once home, he quickly walks to the glass doors and steps outside. The cool air spins around him in greeting. He closes his eyes for a moment, revelling in it. One breath, two, and he opens his eyes. He needs this. 

Malfoy is on his balcony holding a glass of wine. His arms rest on the iron rail that resembles Harry’s, and his sleeves are rolled up, exposing pale forearms marred solely by the dark tattoo. Harry swallows and unbuttons his shirt. He tells himself it is too far away to be seeing a glimmer in Malfoy’s eyes.

Relief and liberation. The sensations of his hands on his body, sliding over his skin, goose pimples rising; he chokes out a sob and slips his hands lower. He strokes languidly, softly. His orgasm builds and builds, and, finally, he comes. 

Malfoy is still watching him, eyes piercing across the distance.

\--

Somehow, Malfoy watching him is even more soothing than when he’s alone with the city. Malfoy seems wholly absorbed in Harry’s movements. His releases feel bigger. He is more confident, more sure.

And then one day, Malfoy leaves halfway through. Harry’s cock shrinks, and his heart slows. He breathes harshly into the night, and a tear tracks down his cheek. Damn Malfoy for leaving.

A knock sounds at the door, and Harry’s heart beats again. He practically runs to the door and throws it open, realising in after-thought that if it is Mrs Marley to collect the rent, she will be quite surprised.

It’s Malfoy. He steps into the apartment without a sound and closes the door behind him. They stand there in the hall, quiet. Malfoy is dressed in pressed grey trousers and a starched white shirt. Harry is naked. Malfoy reaches a hand out and slides pale fingers down Harry’s chest. Harry’s eyes close.

Malfoy steps closer and whispers, “I see you.”

There is no need for talk. Harry slips his fingers into Malfoy’s and leads him down the hall to the bedroom. As he steps through the door, Malfoy flicks on the light.

When Malfoy presses into him, their legs tangled in the sheets and their breaths mixing with each kiss, Harry feels alive.  


**Author's Note:**

> If so inclined, please leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/270696.html). Comments are ♥


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